


hate is a strong word

by orangejuicing



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Developing Friendships, Everyone is adorable, Fluff, Gen, Platonic Relationships, look at my children they are such beans, someone buy keith a sandwich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 13:42:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19465177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangejuicing/pseuds/orangejuicing
Summary: El leans closer, so close they’re almost touching. Max scrambles backward and hits her head on a table leg.“Sorry, um.” Max swallows. “I just don’t understand you. Don’t you hate me?”“I don’t…hate you,” El answers in her ever halting voice, like she’s unsure of what she’s saying. “I like you. Max.”Max can’t help the incredulous laugh that pops from her lips. “You like me? I find that a little hard to believe, considering you’ve ignored me for six months straight.”Just some fluff of these girls becoming friends because I really need that in my life. They are purely platonic in this story but if you are slightly nearsighted it can be interpreted as.. um.. Maxeven? Elmax? I don't know the ship name ;-;





	hate is a strong word

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for the crappy quality of this story, i wrote it all in like 3 hours because i wanted to get something out before season 3! 
> 
> i love these girls so much and it makes me sad that max gets so much hate :c
> 
> as always, feedback is much appreciated!

The sun is beating down like a big ass bass drum and Max Mayfield is having none of it.

She can feel herself starting to burn; to be honest, it’s inevitable, what with her pale skin and red hair. No matter the copious amounts of sunscreen she applies, there’s no saving her fair skin when it decides that the sun is too bright. She stands up, which knocks over quite a lot of pool supplies (since she happens to be the only one not currently swimming, the boys have stashed all of their belongings on and next to and under her pool chair) and abruptly heads towards the pool exit.

“Max! Where are you going?” Lucas hollers before being unceremoniously dunked by Dustin and Mike- the latter of which immediately slips on a pool noodle and joins Lucas underwater. Ordinarily Max might have laughed.

“Home,” she says to her sandaled feet. She’s not in any mood to sit by the poolside and watch her so-called friends ignore her while they teach El “swimming pool etiquette” for any longer than she already has.

Lucas resurfaces and splashes Dustin in the face (collateral damage being Will and El), and they all collapse with laughter, Mike popping his head out of the water (“What? What’d I miss? Guys!”). Max watches them for a minute. They look so complete and happy in the afternoon heat, sun-soaked and laughing. She thinks back to her conversation with Mike, a few months before.

_ Why don’t you want me in your party? _

Max thinks she might understand now. Mike was right- their party has always been full. They don’t need Max, much less want her, and even now they don’t even notice the clang the pool gate makes when she closes it too hard.

As she walks away, her flip-flops scraping along the concrete, Max realizes she left her towel back at the pool. She’s not going to go back for it, though, because she’ll look pathetic. More than she already feels, anyway.

She suddenly doesn’t even want to be outside, and she feels vulnerable in her tank top, so low cut you can see her entire bathing suit top underneath. She starts running towards home, just wanting to get inside, to her own room, where nobody can see her.

Her stringy hair, still wet from chlorine, slaps her back as she runs, and it kind of stings but she kind of likes it. The pain is straightforward and sharp, and that’s so much better than the wet eyes and racing thoughts that have plagued her through most of her life. Sharp is better than aching, that’s for sure.

She isn’t used to running in sandals, though; one of her flip-flops catches on the uneven pavement and she lands hard on her knees. That definitely stings, and a trickle of blood runs down her leg. Max watches it, and her hands are shaking a little, in the way her stomach always catches when she falls. She feels like she should cry, from the torn skin on her knees or the bruising beginning on her hands, but she just leans back on the concrete and squints against the sun.

After a minute she picks herself up and walks, slowly, the rest of the way home.

It isn’t until she hears the commotion at the door that she moves from her bed. She creeps out into the hallway, wondering what idiot pissed Billy off this time, when she hears the familiar voice, except there’s no hesitance in it this time.

“Let me in.”

_ What the hell? _ Max leans around the corner, and she can see Billy’s back, see his arm propped up against the doorframe cockily. And in the doorway, holding her towel, is the curly haired mage herself. El.

“Look, give me the towel, kid,” Billy says in that dangerous tone he always uses. Like kerosene soaked cloth. Ready to flame up at any second. “I’ll give it to her. And what exactly are you so worried about anyway?”

El cranes her neck around Billy, like she’s sick of listening to his shit, and meets Max’s eyes before she has time to duck away.  _ Go away, _ Max thinks. _ Listen to Billy. _

Billy notices her staring and whips his head around. If this was a year ago, Max would duck her head down and run to her room, but it isn’t, and she meets his gaze steadily, his hostile expression faltering under her stare.

While Billy’s eyes are fixed on Max, El ducks under his arm, and Max wants to bang her head against the wall.  _ Don’t come inside _ , she hopes her eyes say. If El understands, she doesn’t listen.

“What the hell-” Billy blinks in surprise as El runs past him, and shit. Max doesn’t know how he’s going to respond, but she isn’t going to give him a chance. As El nears her, she grabs her wrist and pulls her around the corner, into her room, slamming the door and locking- no, double locking it.  _ Click, click, _ go all her useless locks.

There’s a moment of silence, of heavy breathing, eyes fixed on Max’s bedroom door.

She can hear Billy’s footsteps nearing her room, loud and heavy, and she cringes in anticipation, but Billy just keeps walking. Max turns to El in shock, not really sure what to do, when she notices a trickle of blood coming from El’s nose. The way her eyes haven’t left the door.

“Thank you,” Max says quietly, and El gives her a half smile, though her face is contorted in concentration. Every second she continues to control Billy exerts her even more, and Max knows it, so she tilts her head towards the window, unlatching the lock, and El seems to understand.

It takes a minute for both of them to clamber out the window and around the side of the house without exposing themselves to any other windows, but soon they find themselves at the entrance to the Palace Arcade.

El looks apprehensive at the prospect of going inside, and Max figures it is a bit of a sensory overload, what with all the lights and the people. But still, she pulls the door open and gestures for El to come inside, which she does, albeit reluctantly.

Max has always felt more at home in arcades than anywhere else, so it’s odd when she feels El’s hand snaking into hers, maybe for comfort, after a moment of winding through video games and flashing lights.

Max can feel her mind working double time by the time they reach the Pac-Man machine, and she remembers the time Lucas tricked her into talking to him in the backroom way back in the fall. Maybe…

She narrows her eyes at Keith, who’s sitting at the table in the corner, busy eating a footlong sub. His keys are sitting next to him, so maybe, if she can distract him…

“Hey, Keith!” 

The awkward employee lifts his head a little in response.

“Uh, I think the Pac Man machine is glitching,” Max says. “Think you could check it out?”

With a groan, Keith gets up and makes his way towards the offending game, mumbling something indecipherable. By Max’s side, El squeezes her hand more tightly. 

“Hey, El,” Max whispers. “I need those keys. The ones by the sandwich? So, if..” She trails off as El tilts her head, and the keys come flying into her hand.

“Um, thank you,” Max says, taken aback. El sways a little, giving no response, and Max wonders if she might have overexerted herself or if the environment is seriously bothering her. Either way, Keith is about to figure out that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with the Pac-Man machine, so she pulls El over to the backroom and fumbles with the keys for a solid minute before she finds the right one.

Unlocking the door, the two girls slide into the room, and Max locks the door behind them.

“Okay,” Max says as soon as El has sat down criss-cross on the floor. “So are you going to tell me what all this is about?”

“All this?” El echoes, and she sounds genuinely confused.

“It’s the same shit with all your friends,” Max says, and okay, her voice might sound a little angry. “You guys hate me one minute, then treat me like we’re best friends the next. What is  _ up _ with you?”

“Shit?” El repeats the word, and Max wonders if she’s ever heard it before.

“Not exactly what I hoped you’d get from that, but yeah. Shit.” Max has to admit there’s a certain endearment to El’s innocence, and a certain satisfaction to teaching her something quite the opposite.

“What is shit?” El asks, and Max has to stifle a laugh. “Um...People say it when they’re annoyed. It can be kind of like saying stuff, but angrier.”

“Are you angry?”

“No, why would I be?” Max lays on the sarcasm thickly, rolling her eyes.

“Oh,” El says, and of course. Of course she doesn’t understand sarcasm. Max isn’t in the mood to explain it, either, so she opens a new topic.

“Look, why did you come to my house?” Max asks. There’s no reason for her to have, is there?

“Your towel,” El says like it’s obvious. 

“Well, yeah. But why did you want to come in? You could’ve just dropped it off.” Max hugs her knees, briefly forgetting that they’re scraped up and that touching them actually hurts.

“I want to….” El looks like she’s struggling for the right words, but Max can’t help her. She doesn’t know what she wants to say.

Max picks at the dried blood on her leg, and El looks at in surprise.

“Are you hurt?” she says, and her voice is soft.

“It’s nothing,” Max says, and she hides her knees with her sleeves.

“Not nothing,” El insists, and she leans closer, so close they’re almost touching. Max scrambles backward and hits her head on a table leg.

“Sorry, um.” Max swallows. “I just don’t understand you. Don’t you hate me?”

“I don’t…hate you,” El answers in her ever halting voice, like she’s unsure of what she’s saying. “I like you. Max.”

Max can’t help the incredulous laugh that pops from her lips. “You like me? I find that a little hard to believe, considering you’ve ignored me for six months straight.”

“Ignored?” El’s eyebrows knit, as though she really doesn’t know the word.

“Pretended like I didn’t exist.” Max tries her best to glare, but she really can’t, because El just looks so small and fragile.

“I’m sorry,” El says, and it sounds like she means it. “Friends?”

Max stares at her. “Sorry, I just… if you wanted to be friends, why have you never talked to me before?”

“You’re angry,” El says simply, and Max can’t tell if it’s an answer to her question or just an observation, but either way, something in her chest bubbles up and she feels like she’s going to cry. How many times has she felt so angry with people, with the world, and how many times has she told herself not to be. Because anger is associated with Billy, and she’ll never be like Billy. 

Does El think she is?

“I don’t mean to be,” Max says to her knees, so quietly that she can barely hear it herself. She can feel her eyes stinging, and she buries her head in her arms.

After a moment, she feels someone’s thin arms wrapping around her, and she looks up to see El hugging her tightly, so tightly it feels like her life depends on it. Slowly, hesitantly, Max reaches her arms up and hugs her back, breathing in her warmth and the smell of laundry detergent and syrup that lingers on her skin and in her curly hair.

“Friends?” El says again, softer this time.

“Friends,” Max says into her hair.

Suddenly there’s a banging at the door and Keith’s voice punctures the wood.

“There was nothing wrong with Pac-Man, Maxine, so you’d better buy me a new sandwich, because someone stole mine.”

Max pulls away from El and scrubs her eyes on her sleeve before yelling through the door.

“How about you give us a handful of quarters for not telling your boss that you left your keys lying around, huh?”

A moment later, Max and El are standing in front of the not-broken Pac-Man machine.

“Okay,” Max says. “This is the most classic game ever, so it might as well be your first game.”

El watches her insert the quarters into the machine, and listens to them clink against the metal sides as they fall. 

“Here,” Max says, placing El’s hand underneath her own on the joystick. “You move your character like this. Eat all the dots, but stay away from the ghosts, okay?”

“Okay.” El nods and brushes her hand off, expertly navigating the joystick. In fact, she’s so good that Max wonders if she’s actually manipulating the game so that she has an advantage.

They end up using a lot more than a handful of quarters off Keith.

As the sun goes down, they sit on the steps outside, eating cheap arcade pizza and pretending that they like it. El has sauce on her chin, but her smile is so big that Max doesn’t comment on it.

“Did you like the arcade?” Max asks, and El nods, not stopping to breathe between bites of pizza.

“I still don’t really understand why you wanted to suddenly be my friend, but I’m happy you did,” Max says, taking a swig of her soda. 

“Lonely,” El says through a mouthful of cheese, and Max can barely understand her. “Sorry?”

“At the pool. You looked…” El examines her face. “Lonely.”

Max can feel her eyes watering a little, and she isn’t sure she can completely blame it on the Coke. She doesn’t answer, just watches the sun going down over Hawkins.

“I was mean,” El says. “Before.”

“It’s okay,” Max says with a shrug. “I can be mean too.”

“I did some mean... shit,” El whispers, like it’s a secret, and Max busts out laughing. God, El is hilarious, and she doesn’t even realize. 

El leans close to her face. Max is about to pull away when she reaches up and touches one of her freckles. They only come out in the summer, from the sun, and Max hates them.

“Pretty,” El whispers. 

“They’re just freckles,” Max says, sure her face is flushed.

“Not the freckles. You.”

El says these things so casually, like it’s normal, and Max pulls away, flustered, covering her face with her hands. Covering the smile that’s stretching across her cheeks.

El blinks at her in that confused way she does, and Max can’t believe how innocent she is.

“You’re pretty too,” she says, and El looks like she’s just been given the best present in the world. 

“Really?” she asks, and her eyes are shining.

“Yeah, really.” Max can’t hold back her smile now. “Hey, if you want, I can teach you to skateboard.”

“Skateboard,” El says, like she’s savoring the word.

Max props her chin on her hands and looks out over the quickly deserting streets of Hawkins. The sky is fading from its brilliant pinks and oranges, but Max still feels lighter than she has for months, maybe even years. How strange it seems, that once upon a time she felt so trapped in this little town, wanted to leave more than anything. Now she can’t imagine giving up her friends- yes, friends- for anything in the world. 

Who cares if she’s an extra party member? She’s not an extra friend anymore, and that’s all that matters to her. 

The dusk hasn’t stopped the heat, and there’s tomato sauce on her leg, a mosquito bite the size of a nickel on her arm, sweat caking her forehead. But even though the concrete is digging into her skin, her bra is riding up, and the beautiful sunset has all but disappeared, Max Mayfield honestly couldn’t be happier.

  
  



End file.
